


Christmas Special

by reluctantRaconteur



Category: Code Zero
Genre: Christmas, Interview, OC, Other, Randomness, The Power of Ngasal™, definitely non-canon, tribute to an unfinished short story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:34:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28567032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reluctantRaconteur/pseuds/reluctantRaconteur
Summary: Recorded voice notes from an interview with [DELETED], a student from Capitol International High, regarding the supernatural events of 25/12/20xx.
Kudos: 1





	1. Voice Note 00

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaisernite_aleph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaisernite_aleph/gifts).



_The trickster was clearly wound up._

_"Will you ever forgive me?" he blurted out._

_"Maybe..."_

_I pointed a finger towards the sky._

_"When Jakarta snows!"_

_Seeing his miffed expression, I walked away laughing._

*~*~*~*

**Christmas Special  
(or «Comme il neige», if you will) **

Okay. 

So here's the deal. 

If anybody asks you whether Indira Mathur-Jones was ever involved with the Fiktorians---Hybrids, Elementals, or whatever the hell you call them---please say no. 

Really. I beg you. 

Change my name or something. 

I wouldn’t associate myself with those mystic shenanigans, ever again. Forget glory. Forget adventure! All I want now is crawl back in the comfort of my own room and shiver under the thick feather quilt I bought from my last trip to IKEA. 

Man, I sure miss IKEA.

I should go there some time to calm my nerves. Relish the comforts of the modern world, you know? They haven't got decent sofas in that other world. The one I got stuck in for, like… how long has it been? Two Weeks? Days? Yeah. 

To be fair, the food there was decent. Or at least Azizah was a great cook, with her brilliant biryanis. All hail Azizah! She's the only tolerable person I've ever met who, well... might not be completely human. Sorry! Can't believe I just said that. Was I racist? I'm not against any ethnic group here, okay? Besides, those half-human Hybrids do count as a minority on Earth, I'm sure, but they're leagues above us regular folks. So why bother? 

...Calm down? 

What do you mean "calm down"?

I'm already calm. Look. Can't you see this hand gesture I'm doing---the _gyan mudra_? I've been Googling those a lot lately. Well, I've been Googling a bunch of stuff, not just miniature yoga. I do it to make sense of the weird things that happened, also to convince myself that I still have an ounce of sanity left somewhere in my cluttered head. Remember a few days ago, when people didn't believe magic existed? They'd be oh-so-cynical and have their own scientific reasons for every miracle they witness before their eyes. I used to be one of those people. I studied a lot, you see? Still do. Why, oh why, does the most distracting chain of events happen right before my final exams? Good thing I had my notes with me when I disappeared. You should try verbally reciting physics formulas in another dimension. It's surreal! Also helps jog your memory. 

Alright, alright! I'll continue with the relevant stuff. Promise. I just… need some time to gather my thoughts. Memories are like sardines. They have to be processed, smothered with tomato sauce, and squeezed into neat little tin cans. Only then they will start to make sense. 

I can't tell you every single thing that happened. I think you already know most of it, anyway, about the mass misthos attack. And the fall of the beloved National Monument, swirly gold top and all, and how it was rebuilt in less than a minute. I bet Roy and Valdus told you all about it, didn't they? Yup, they're the ones to blame. 

Guess I'll start from the middle, then. My beginning, to be precise. You don't need the rest of the mosaic. As I've said, that's history. The behind-the-scenes action, that's what you want to hear, right? Then you've come to the right person! I happen to be the voice of Capitol High journalism. My articles are ace, believe me. I won't dare disappoint. 

Well. Here goes.


	2. Voice Note 01

First, I'll have to tell you a bit more about Roy Andriya. 

Come on! Isn't that what you want to find out about most, ever since our picture flashed across the city skyline? Ugh! Curse Arkeluc's goddamned paparazzis. If it wasn't for him, I would've successfully sneaked myself out of this absurd narrative I've tangled myself into. Yet here I am, answering stupid questions from stupid reporters! Now, don't get me wrong. You happen to be the only one civil enough to offer me a cup of imported chai for our interview, so I'll take some time to answer your queries. 

To clear your doubts and suspicions, I'll be clear. 

We're not engaged in any sort of supernatural teenage romance. 

Sorry to disappoint you. This isn't Twilight. 

We were, however, a pair of hot-blooded academic rivals. Kind of. In Capitol International High, the only way to climb on top of the popularity ladder is through your grades. Yup, we're that formal, blazers and ties and everything. If you decide to visit my school, or what's left of it, you might see the scattered remnants of an enormous glass cabinet and plastic gold medals. There were a bunch of them, from what I remember, garnered from countless Spelling Bees and Olympiads held in and out the nation. 

I won the first half of the cabinet. 

Roy dominated the other half. 

What annoyed me most was that he didn't even seem to be trying. God, he didn't even give a damn about when our exams would be held, or which chapters would come! I swear I've never seen him take any notes before, let alone come in contact with a textbook. Yet he gave presentations with a flourish, and yawned after every exam because he'd always be the first to submit his paper. Always! Without even sparing a couple of minutes to recheck his answers! It irritates me to this day. More so than his permanently dyed hair, whiter than the pristine walls of plaster surrounding our classroom. 

I asked him about it once, my tone full of respite and an unfulfilled promise for revenge for our next Kahoot match. He just stared at me for a few seconds and said, "It's been like that since my birth." He paused, a smirk creeping up his thin lips. "Why? Do you find it attractive? 

"Hell no," I said. Then I left the class. 

Another thing---he always seemed so sickly and pale, and yet he was vigorous enough to play pranks on us 1B students. How he could get away with tricking forty-eight students on April Fools' day is anyone's guess. His prime target? Sweet, innocent Indira, of course! There was this one time when I thought he faked his own death, and I came running to the nearest police station to report it. When we arrived back at school, he was leaning against the main gate, his grey vest splattered in red. He howled like a complete madman. 

I was absent for a week after that incident. 

I remember telling Dadi stories about his extreme exploits one night, when she came to visit from Mumbai. Instead of showing much-needed sympathy like I had expected her to, she laughed hard, multiplying the amount of wrinkles on her patient face. Then she gave me a far-off look, as if she was remembering something from her past. "Did you say he plays the flute?" she asked in a low rumble. 

"Mm-hm. He takes lessons." 

"Well, well!" She clapped, smiling a broad and mysterious smile. "That is so very interesting indeed."

I tilted my head. "Why?" 

"You know who this schoolmate of yours reminds me of, beta?"

"I'm… not sure, honestly."

Dadi erupted into a grin. "Krishna-ji."

I scoffed. "You're kidding." 

"He was a god among men," Dadi mused as she sank into her reveries. "But he was also a youthful prankster who could make miracles happen." She gasped, her narrow slits of eyes opening wide. "What if he was a reincarnation of---"

Nope. No way. 

I let out a deep, exhausted sigh. 

Ever since my early childhood, Dadi had always entertained me with tales from the Mahabharata. She’d always pick the non-abridged version for storytelling nights, regardless of the nitty-gritty bits which may deserve a rating of more than PG-13. I can’t say I understood most of what she told me at the time, but I ended up growing up with those stories anyway, sucking them in like oxygen, taking them for granted. Only once I revisited them when I was older, I came to understand the allure of the great sage’s epic. The familial strife between the Pandavas and Kauravas is complex and nuanced, unlike the repetitive young adult novels I encountered and the choppy webnovels my friends practically worship in their spare time. I had entered the divine fandom, and there was no return. 

Did I believe in those stories, you ask? 

I wish I could. 

I wanted to be there, watching from the edge of the Kurukshetra battlefield. An innocent bystander, invisible, spellbound and starry-eyed. Do I sound like a coward, for not wanting to jump in the fight? I hate to admit it, but in my daydreams of yore, I'd sit cross-legged with a packet of crispy bhujia sticks, chewing and chewing as I watch blood spill on the ground. 

Ironic, huh? If only I'd known. 

A member of any fandom must have an all-time favorite, right? Mine will forever be Lord Krishna. I mean, who wouldn’t want to have a friend like Krishna? While other kids my age would dream of meeting (or becoming) Superman or Batman, I dreamt of time-travelling to the past, saying a polite hello to Lord Krishna and asking for his signature, if he had one. Of course he had one. The closest I got to achieving this was meeting Saurabh Raj, the actor who played him in the infamous drama adaptation, in a meet 'n' greet. The show was surprisingly popular in this nation of copycat soap operas. 

Anyway, you understand. I got so ticked off when Dadi compared him to my worst nemesis. How dare she? Krishna is all about love, tenderness, warmth, compassion! Cunning, bravery! Last-minute rescues! Sure, he could stir up a bit of mischief sometimes, but he’s got reasons! If anything, Roy was a cheap knockoff version of the enigmatic man-god I admired.


	3. Voice Note 02

It was the dawn of December. Christmas fever was in full swing. 

Our school’s annual Winter Expo was always a big deal, and harsh preparations usually began several weeks before. This was the time of year in which students were allowed some organized fun. As per the longtime tradition, there would always be a choir, a play, some dancing, and a bunch of photos of kids making fools of themselves. 

Us at the Journalism Club were responsible for those said photos. 

“Indy!” barked Tio, our editor. 

I straightened my back and adjusted my collar. “Yessir?”

Horatio Hermansyah, senior from 3C. Rumor had it he dominated that very swivel chair since freshman year, which means he had spent approximately two-and-a-half years sucking on lollipops and shouting orders. He had a whirly moustache which gave the impression of an old-timey detective. Or a notorious Italian mobster, depending on how you look at it. 

“I want you to be in charge of our Christmas special,” he said, pointing straight at my nose. “You’ll be working on a five-page article titled ‘The Capitol Holiday Spirit' about the expo rehearsals. Focus on behind-the-scenes action, you get me?” 

I nodded. His orders were often short, leaving a bunch of room for improvisation. 

“Good.” Tio waved me off, signalling towards the door. “Turn it in by tomorrow morning.”

My jaw dropped. “Tomorrow morning?” I repeated to make sure. 

“Eight a.m. sharp!” said Tio. “Send your draft directly to my email. Photos included.”

“But---”

“Got a problem with that?” 

I lowered my head. “No, sir.”

He got up, chucking a lumpy melon-flavored Milkita from his wide mouth. “I’m giving you a rare oppurtunity, Indy,” he growled. “I don’t do that often, especially to juniors like you."

I backed away, palms pushing the doorknob.

“Take it or leave it.”

"You can count on me, sir." I gave a quick thumbs-up and slipped past the doorway. 

Once I reached a considerable distance from the clubroom, I wrung my arms and wiped the perspiration off my throbbing forehead. "Whew."

"Close call, huh?" 

I spun around to see the peppily-clad figure of Naomi Oyama, fellow contributor for the Capitol Monthly, also my deskmate. She's nice. We talked a lot. 

"Yeah," I said, laughing in relief. "When he spits out his candy like that, it's a throwaway signal for trouble."

"You should be proud," Naomi said. We descend the stairs. "He trusts you. Or else he won't burden you with such a huge responsibility."

"I know, I know," I told her. "Just another perk for being Indy the Invaluable." I smiled weakly. "I would've been stoked if our finals aren't coming so soon."

"Ugh, right," Naomi pouted in disgust. "Totally forgot. Didn't we have our tests, like, a week ago?"

"Those were for the end of semester. They're different."

"This school is mad!" Naomi cried out. 

"You'll get used to it," I told her. "The rest of us did.”

Although the scheduled after-school hours had just ended, certain clubs lingered longer than they were supposed to for some extra practice. People were going to cash in on our performances, so it was our job to make sure they were worth paying for. A trap remix of Carol of the Bells blared from a faraway speaker. That was definitely our hip-hop troupe in the dancehall. Some indiscernible shrieking was heard from the auditorium, where the Drama Club rehearsed. Fellows from the Art Club were painting murals down the hallway, balancing themselves on metal ladders. I readied my camera, hoping to take some good shots. 

What threw me off was that the members of our class band, pretentious as they were, nowhere to be seen. 

Naomi seemed to understand my confusion as I peered through the glass window of the vacant Music Room. “Willy said the band’s been a mess lately,” Naomi said. “You know, after they lost two of their members?” 

“Lost?” I raised my eyebrows. “What happened?” 

Naomi sighed. “You seriously haven’t heard?”

“I’m not a big fan of underground school gossip,” I admitted. “You’re the expert.” 

“No! It’s nothing like that!” Naomi flailed her arms around for emphasis. “Haven’t you noticed anything… unusual lately?”

“Not if you ask me.” 

“You didn’t argue with Andriya in the past week. At all." 

“Oh yeah! Now that you've pointed it out. That’s because…”

I paused in my tracks.

“He wasn’t there.”

Naomi shot me a meaningful look. 

“Did he… did he transfer?” I asked, crossing my fingers.

“He didn’t! That’s the problem,” whispered Naomi. “Rumor has it he went missing. Valdus too.” 

“Valdus Frederik Jack,” I recalled. “Back row. Rank…” I snapped my fingers, trying to remember. “Fourteen?"

“Yeah. Him.” 

“He’s the shy one, isn’t he? Hardly talks.” 

“Yeah,” confirmed Naomi once more. “Last seen walking home in Manggis Street.”

Valdus was Roy’s best friend. As in the inseparable, best friends forever type. They were comrades. Partners-in-crime. Considering you’ve met him at some point, you probably noticed how he and Roy were polar opposites. He’s the one with longish curly brown hair and gold-tinted, dilated catlike pupils. There’s no way you’d miss him in a crowd. 

“Why isn’t this front page news?” 

“Don’t know,” said Naomi. “I think the school’s trying to keep it a secret. Prevent panic from spreading.” 

“Huh. Typical.” 

“But you know what’s strange?” Naomi went on. “They disappeared on the same day the scary storm happened! Remember? When the sky went dark with streaks of red lightning?”

I bit my lip. Sometimes, I wonder why a prestigious school like Capitol High was crammed with all sorts of weirdos.

\---

I passed Manggis Street on my way home. 

I was sifting through the photographs I had taken with my phone, thinking for the life of me what to write about them. I could've done the job easily if I had more time, but I planned to do another homework as soon as I reached the house, which was also due the day after. When I craned my head up, I caught sight of the crooked street sign, reminding me of Naomi's menacing whispers. 

This was the spot where Roy and Valdus disappeared. 

Stuffing the camera into my bag, I hastened my footsteps, a slight jolt of panic washing over me. I must've looked ridiculous when I ran, long twin braids bouncing on my back. People had warned that this city was a hotspot for child kidnapping and other vile crimes of the sort, and although I wasn't sure if such cases ever involved expatriates, I wasn't taking any chances.

At the moment, I heard nothing but the distant honking of cars and the uneven pattern of my footsteps. Nobody seemed to be around, unless you count the limp stray cats hiding underneath toppled trash bins. The street reeked of exhaust gas, sewage filth, and the damp notes of a recent rainfall. So familiar, yet I couldn't shake off the sense of trepidation I had. 

Something was about to go wrong. For sure. 

I never felt any pride for my instincts. They’re horrible, to say the least, and trusting them would yield unwanted, often humorous results. I was determined not to make the same mistake and keep my cool, so I slowed down my afternoon jog into the steadier pace of a casual walk. I told myself that I was being nonsensical, so I should be a bit more... sensical for a change, if I valued my mental health. 

Did those two rascals even get kidnapped in the first place? I wasn’t sure. Maybe they just made a run for it together, away from this godforsaken cornucopia of traffic jams. (Mumbai, worse? I doubt it.)

_Lovers’ escapade._ I smiled a little. 

Then I felt a slight crunch underneath the sole of my sneaker.

I shut my eyes tight, muttering, Please be a potato chip, please be a potato chip… over and over. 

It was not, in fact, a potato chip. But it wasn’t the crushed corpse of an insect either. 

It was a pair of silver binoculars. 

I bent down to pick it up, brushing the dirt off of its glinting surface. One of its fogged lenses was cracked, while the other remained intact. Both were layered with cold, thick glass---or so it seemed. Upon closer inspection by the sunlight, I noticed the intricate engravings of snowflake-like patterns which adorned this mysterious artifact. 

Weighing it on my hand, the binoculars felt heavy enough to be of immense value. Then again, I thought, frowning, it’s probably a mere prop for our school play. Someone might’ve dropped it on their path home post-rehearsal. I wondered if I should take it to school the day after and ask around, but that meant I had to explain how it got damaged. Who knew it truly was expensive, and knowing how frugal they were, my parents wouldn’t spare even a five-hundred rupiah coin for compensation. 

Yet one thing was certain: I couldn’t leave without testing it out. 

So I brought it closer towards my eyes and looked. 

That was the first time it happened, the first time I was acquainted with the muses of my incoming nightmares. 

They were everywhere. 

They came in all shapes and sizes, crawling and shifting and wriggling across the zoomed-in landscape. An iridescent purplish blob hung over a bent streetlight, its liquid flesh dripping slowly on the asphalt. Slithering towards the empty park beyond was a serpentine creature, covered from head to tail with bulging eyeballs, some rolling on the ground like marbles underneath its wide belly. The biggest of the lot loomed in the alleyway between two abandoned kiosks, a multi-tentacled being with a gaping mouth lined with sharp, rotating fangs reminiscent of the blades in my mother's food processor. 

Why, you ask? Why didn't I scream my lungs out, drop the wretched eyepiece, step on it multiple times and drown its pieces down the putrid slime of Ciliwung River? Don't you get it? I couldn't! My legs were weak, my arms shook. I was unable to think straight, let alone form a coherent escape plan. Before I realised it, I was engaged in a staring contest with Terror McTentacles, and I swear it glared right back at me. 

Finally, I mustered enough energy within myself to move the binoculars away from my line of sight. Everything went back to how it was before, minus the augmented layer of freaky slime creatures. I bent over, suddenly feeling sick from the encounter, and retched into the sewage drain. Satisfied, I wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my blazer, unaware or how gross it was, and hauled up my backpack. 

I was distracted, uncertain of what to do next. 

Until it was far too late. 

What began as a slight tug at the cuff of my shirt loomed into a tight, sticky grip around my throat. Unseen binds coiled around my shoulders and knees, brushing past the loose curls draped across my panic-stricken face. I struggled to break free, but to no avail. 

"Don't move," I heard a voice say. 

Breathing rapidly, I moved my head around to scan for its source. 

"Stay still, godammit! Don't. Move."

So I didn't. 

Somehow, it took me a while to realize that I was in Manggis Street no longer. I found myself amidst a paddy field of sprawling gold, the blazing sun looming directly above my head. In the close distance I could see tall, skeletal trees which bordered a green hump of grass, a series of thatched cottages positioned not far from its peak. 

Paradise was my initial thought. 

The grip around my neck tightened. I dangled a few centimeters above the moist soil. Hell. 

My lips trembled, praising the Lord just as how I'd seen Dadi do. I didn't see my whole life flash before my eyes, or any sort of nostalgic reel of crappy home videos. Instead, I conjured up a fake headline: 

_Unlikely Murder of High School Girl Confounds Local Shamans!_

I kind of wished the headline would come true, not because I was actually willing to die, but because it'd mean I would've been found somewhere once this torture ends, and I'd at least receive a proper burial. Or cremation. I didn't care, so long as they played BLACKPINK in my funeral. 

I sucked in all the air I could into my lungs. I saw my idyllic surroundings darken, black spots popping in and out of the edges. The temperature around me dropped, chilly as the hill station I visited when I was five. (Now the home videos came!) My cousins were there. We had epic snowball fights. Hot chocolate, too. I even dipped in marshmallows to imitate the blonde girls on television. 

The last words I said before passing out were, reportedly, "...catch me in the fridge…" 

I coughed and stumbled down.


	4. Voice Note 03

When I woke up, I saw the moon. 

At least, that's what I thought it was. The spherical object did seem to have the similar purpose of illuminating the night sky, but it was neither white nor did it have craters. It didn't even stay in one place. It hovered around like a hyperactive firefly, while aggressively flashing all sorts of disco ball colors. Looking at it made me dizzy, so I decided to shut my eyes a bit longer. 

Voices hovered from above.

"She dead yet?"

"Nah." 

"Are you sure we know her? I'm not sure we've ever seen…"

"Five more minutes, Valdi." 

"Until what?" 

"Till you realize how dumb you were."

"Hey, aren't those your binoculars?" 

"What binoculars?" 

"The fancy toy one, see? You stole them from Indomaret."

"I stole nothing from Indomaret." 

"Liar! I was there. I was right behind you when you swiped it from the counter." 

"Sharp eye. Why didn't you say anything?"

"Well, you wouldn't listen. Still won't." 

"Hahaha… you sure know me better than anyone, don't cha, Val?"

"I know your biggest secret. Nothing else." 

"Cute." 

They went quiet for a while.

"We should tell Azizah."

"Dude, no way! You crazy? She'll think it's our fault." 

"But it's not! We can prove it."

"How so?" 

An arm swished. "Evidence." 

"Ah, right. My masterpiece."

"Maybe she'll know what to do about her. Take her home and such. Or maybe… maybe she's one of us!" 

"She's not. I can tell." 

"And you let her live anyway?" There was a slow series of claps. "Wow. Looks like someone finally mastered the concept of empathy." 

"What did you expect me to do? Freeze her to death, along with the misthos?"

"Honestly? Yeah."

"Three minutes remaining. Tick tock."

"For the last time, I don't know who she--- oh jeez our school uniform."

"At last! Way to go, Sherlock." 

"I can't believe I just noticed it now!"

"Me neither." 

"Whatzgoinon?" I slurred, rubbing my tired eyes. 

"Gah! She woke!" 

"Chill, now. I'll handle this." 

I blinked. Before me was a wooden flask, filled to the brim.

"Have some water." 

"Oh, sure." I took a long sip. "Thanks, uh…"

I looked up. The flask slipped from my grip. 

"Holy---" 

"We meet again, Mathur-Jones."

Indeed, he was none other than my worst nemesis in the flesh, also, for some reason, strapped in dashing leather armor. His white hair was messier than usual. To say I was "freaked out" or "bewildered" or "utterly shocked" would be a major understatement. I was on the verge of screaming when a hand snuck from behind and gagged my mouth. 

The hand tasted terrible. 

"Questions later," said Roy. He pulled out an emerald-speckled party mask, along with a cape of interweaved leaves. "Wear this," he ordered. "And if anyone asks, you're a traveller who came to enjoy the festivities. Got it?" 

I shook my head hard, shouting inaudible curses.

"Good. Now let's get going."

The suffocating hold was removed, leaving me no choice but to fumble with the costume pieces. Warm night breezes blew over, giving me a tough time trying to clip the leaf-cape in place. The mask had a stick attached to it, like the ones used in classy rich people gatherings in spy movies. Weary and somewhat unhinged, I pictured myself as a runaway princess. 

Laid on the ground was my oval bag, caked in fertile dirt. Someone had apparently propped it up as a makeshift pillow while I was out. When I checked inside, all my school stuff was still intact, phone included. I let out a relieved sigh. 

"You're Indira. From my class." 

"Hm?"

Valdus crouched down beside me. He wore a similar set of armor, a gold scimitar attached to his belt. "Sorry I gagged you.”

"Hm."

He was desperate. "We barely knew each other, right?" 

I nodded without saying a word. 

"Should I, um, introduce myself?" 

"You're Roy's sidekick," I deadpanned. 

"What?" He stifled a laugh. "He's my sidekick, not the other way round." 

Hearing this, I was partially amused.

"Don't tell him I said that. Please." 

"Depends. Where are we?" 

Valdus swept his gaze across the acres of rice surrounding us. "Fiktoria," he mumbled. 

"Victoria?" 

"You're pronouncing it wrong, but whatever."

"How did I get here? How did you guys get here?" 

"Not sure," Valdus said. "As for you, you got kidnapped." He pointed at something in the distance. "By that." 

If I was calmer before, then any illusions of stability I had left was shattered by a mallet. There it was, the very being which wreaked havoc upon my existence. Only it was encased in ice, a string of red-green blinking lights taped around its gaping mouth. Two of its outstretched tentacles held a huge painted banner. I narrowed my eyes. 

The banner said _WeLcOMe iNDy._

\---

Soon, the three of us walked past the fields and into the woods, in which nothing interesting happened. We did see a couple of grinning monkeys in the dark, if that counts. Their all-knowing smiles of pure mischief made me picture a dozen miniature Roys. I berated myself for having conjured up such a dreadful mental image. 

Once we reached the village, however, we witnessed a total change of atmosphere. We barged into a bustling avenue, lined with stalls selling pebbles, everlasting flower garlands, clay animals and suspicious, slimy booze which glowed in the dark. Valdus told me that the place was called the Sunday Market. He wasn't kidding.

There was apparently some sort of carnival going on. Cellos hummed low in the distance, yet I couldn't figure out where the music came from. Bulbous lanterns hovered on thin air, rotating in slow circles. Folks wandered in and out of shops and taverns, clad in elaborate silks. Bedsheets. Tablecloth. Leaves. They gossiped, danced, and let out high-pitched giggles, their identities concealed underneath elaborate masks of varying designs. 

As it turned out, both Roy and Valdus had brought along masks of their own. Valdus' resembled a falcon, complete with jutting brown feathers and a yellow-painted beak, while Roy's was an Arctic fox. Matched them both to a creepy extent, I'd say. Whoever they were working with were clearly experts in the disguises department. 

Minutes into the street, I was approached by an old man holding an empty can of baked beans. Coins jangled inside the can. He pleaded in a language I wasn't able to understand, revealing dead mosquitoes scrunched on his palm. 

"I'm a traveller who came to enjoy the festivities," I recited in a monotonous voice. 

The old man scratched his beard. "Eh?" 

Roy said something to the old man. He cackled. We strode along. 

"Terrible acting," hissed Roy. 

"So?" I hissed back. 

"I told him you drank too much. First time."

"And I don't care!"

"Keep behaving like this and you'll get us caught."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Not me." I raised my empty palms. "For all I know, you guys might be wanted criminals. But I did nothing wrong."

"Your being here is wrong." Roy sighed, as if forced to explain who Hitler was to a clueless toddler. "Humans aren't supposed to be here."

"Then what are you?" I yelled. 

"I'm better." 

I couldn't help but snort. "Right." 

We passed by a miniature theater on wheels, on which a troupe of ballet dancers dressed as lakes performed against a backdrop of swans. Not so far away were other spectacles---a man-eating sword, a detached Ferris wheel leaving sparkling trails of dust, your typical night market motordrome drenched in chili sauce, plus a bumpy green creature (perhaps a troll? Goblin? I wasn’t sure) singing about democracy in a terrible falsetto. Such sights made me think, if I were Alice and this was my personal wonderland, I should consider visiting the therapist next weekend. 

Amongst the crowd, I caught sight of a girl dressed in a maroon headscarf and a long, flowing abaya expertly embroidered with realistic rose stalks. From the looks of it, she was busy haggling over a seashell purse, competing against a pack of impatient housewives. She seemed to be winning. 

"Yo, Azizah!" Roy called out. 

The girl spun around. She raised her kohl-lined eyebrows. 

We have a situation, Valdus mouthed. 

Azizah signalled towards the bickering women. Wait.

We were forced to wait. For about fifteen more minutes. Valdus yawned. Roy wandered off somewhere. I found a small bamboo stool to sit on, until the shop owner guy started yelling and shooed me away, waving a greasy witch tabloid. So I got back up.

Azizah was done at last. Victorious, she dropped the purse into her shopping basket, which bore the spirited slogan of Screw the Misthos!, and paid a handful of bronze coins to the flustered jeweller. Then she walked over to us and said, in a cheery tone, "Hey guys! What seems to be the trouble?" 

"We'll talk in the house," Valdus insisted. "Anyway, meet… Indira? Yeah, Indira."

"Oh. Hi!" She shook my hand. "Looking great, by the way."

"I'm a traveller who came to enjoy the festivities."

She nodded in mild suspicion. "Okay… sure."

I swallowed. 

Azizah looked around. "Anyway, where's Roy?"

Somewhere in the distance, we heard the sound of a window breaking. Followed by horrified screams, echoes of pure panic and maybe, just maybe, a hint of amusement. 

We had no need to run to check what the commotion was about. 

Instead, the commotion ran towards us. 

"Land ho!" someone shouted. 

A body was flung across the market, spinning round and round midair before crashing on the slippery tarpaulin of the fortune teller's tent and tumbling down headfirst, shrouded by a cloud of dust. Valdus stood on his toes to see past the madding crowd. He then gave up and said, to an unconcerned Azizah, “Who am I kidding? That’s him.” 

Roy staggered back up, gritting his teeth in pain. He managed a clumsy fighting stance. Legs apart. Balled fists. Like the boxers from Saturday night. 

From the alley shadows emerged a figure donning a plague doctor's signature crow mask, sharp beak jutting out until it would've been classified as a safety hazard. Their look was further completed by a hooded jacket of a dark shade of grey, also a pair of studded eighties rockstar boots. Although I wasn’t able to see their face, I could very well imagine that it was smeared with thick spiky eyeliner and black lipstick. Later, my guess would be proven to be near-accurate. 

“Remind me who the crow creep is, again?” said Valdus. 

“Arkeluc,” replied Azizah in a hushed tone. “Forgotten nephew of His Atrociousness, a Fiktorian-born Elemental raised by the amnesiac werewolves of the Hollow Cove. Wields the element Ignis---” 

“Also known as…?” 

Azizah groaned in frustration. “Fire, Valdus. Please. We’ve been over this.” 

“Sorry. Go on.” 

“Rumor has it he’s also able to control another element. Nulo, or void.” 

“Wait. Isn’t that like, one of those forbidden ones?” 

“Mm-hm.” She nodded grimly. 

“Then in that case we’re doomed!” Valdus wailed. “We should help him.” 

“Go ahead. But I ain’t coming.” Azizah propped herself against a pillar and fanned herself. “Kid’s gotten us into enough trouble already. I’m so sick of cleaning after his mess.”

“Come on, Azizah! He’s still our friend.” 

She wasn’t listening. “Does it look as if he needs any help?” 

Meanwhile, I stood dumbstruck as I witnessed the cringiest rap-oriented combat scene ever known to man. Or perhaps beyond. 

“Attack fighter! Backbiter! Burnin’ it hot in the incinerator." 

The crow creep, who apparently went by the preposterous designation of Arkeluc, thrust himself forward, about to deliver a punch. Purplish flames curled around his knuckles. Roy ducked just in time to dodge the fatal blow, responding with a low roundhouse kick. He missed, at first. I wasn’t sure who to root for. 

"Cold shudder, close the shutters, gonna break you down like a heavy fever!”

I had never seen Roy fight before. I told myself not to be impressed, but he wasn’t bad at it. Watch the video footage kept by the State Intelligence Agency, you’ll know what I mean. He treated it all like he was playing some sort of deranged game. He was unarmed, sure, and his foe had powerful dark fire magic at his disposal. But he fought anyway. I was certain no sane person would dare to perform such a stunt. 

How he seemed to enjoy bleeding on the knife’s edge… it creeped me out. 

My thought process, hazy as it was, went somewhat like this: _Well, Roy isn't completely sane---that's been long established---but he is still a person! Right?_

Having gained the upper hand, Arkeluc stomped his heavy boot onto Roy’s chest, pinning its weight on the spot where the heart was supposed to be. He flung his mask away, a wicked grin spreading across his face. Turned out he was also a mere teenager, in a way no different than the rest of us. 

"Seven eight nine, still quite fine, can't get closer to my dark divine."

Valdus unsheathed his scimitar and dashed towards Arkeluc, shouting a curse word in a foreign language, but Azizah held him back. Valdus complained. Azizah grumbled. Lightning flashed. Eventually, he agreed to stay back.

You tell me I lack empathy, because I wasn't worried? I did. A small part of me did. We were rivals and everything, and no rivalry would be left if he died. Selfish? I must be honest, yes. The only thing which bothered me was that, in this wild hallucinatory scenario I penned out, I wouldn’t be the one who’d take his life. Till that point everything remained fuzzy, dreamlike to me. Hence my misplaced calm.

So when a chilly breeze rushed in, summoning snowflakes, when a temporary blizzard enveloped the marketplace, when you could almost hear an exiled Disney princess belt out high notes in a soliloquy of self-acceptance---I didn’t move a muscle. Spikes of frost climbed up Arkeluc’s leg, and Roy broke free. 

"'Tis the season, for whatever reason, your flame's not to blame 'cause I'm totally freezin'!" 

They paused mid-fight, inhaling deep, damp breaths. 

"This is beyond terrible,” Arkeluc bellowed. “We should stop."

Roy wiped the sweat from his brow. "Agreed."

The blanket of snow dissipated, exposing a gathering of slack-jawed bystanders.


	5. Voice Note 04

Wrapping the fleece blanket around myself, I stared dumbly at the fireplace. 

Azizah was in the kitchen, the clattering of pots and pans serving as background noise. Valdus occupied a spot on the rug that was closer to the hearth than I was, rubbing his palms together. Roy was fast asleep, snoring horizontally on the upholstered armchair, his forehead compressed with a warm, wet towel. Upon realising the pillow he laid on wasn’t a pillow at all, but my backpack, I opened my mouth to protest. Only this time, conscience held me back. I was petrified. 

Valdus caught me in the act. “He had the same idea. When you fainted.” 

“Huh?”

“Your bag. As a headrest.” 

“Ah.” I blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I wasn’t the one who looked after you. Most of the time.” Valdus lowered his head, uneasy. He tried to smile. “Although I did help a bit with the art project.” 

Puzzle pieces fell into place.

“What I’m trying to say is… you should thank him later. Once he wakes up.” 

“Oh no… no way,” I said. I wasn’t going to give in. “No way! Roy having ice powers? Crazy enough. Him saving me with those said powers? Unacceptable!” My voice shook. “I don’t want to believe it. I don’t need him! I… I need answers. What’s happening? I never wanted to be here! Can you tell me the way home? Now?”

Valdus watched me hyperventilate in solemn silence. 

I scrunched the fur rug beneath. “This isn’t a nightmare… is it?” 

He shook his head. 

“Why should I even trust you? I’m not even sure what you are!” I backed away, dragging the blanket along. “This… this was your plan all along, wasn’t it? One of your demented pranks?” I laughed nervously. “You guys brought me here on purpose, to watch me suffer!” 

“No, Indira, I can expl---”

“Tell me, then!” I hollered. “Tell me everything! Tell me what you think is the truth!” 

Azizah appeared from the kitchen doorway, carrying a steaming clay pot sealed with puffy flatbread. She clicked her tongue in disapproval. 

“Listen, ignoramus,” she said. “If it weren’t for us, you would’ve died by now.” 

Her initial attitude towards me had changed ever since she knew of my heritage as a worthless human, incapable of doing any supernatural feats which defy nature. She ambled gracefully towards the rug we were on, descending into a formal seiza-esque sitting position. The flames cast shadows on her fading makeup, making her look twice as terrifying compared to when she first revealed to me her true, harsh nature. 

"Apologies," I mumbled half-heartedly. 

“Humans aren’t supposed to be capable of seeing misthos, and vice versa.” She aimed a suspicious look towards my trembling frame. “Which means, you couldn’t have been kidnapped by one, if you were kept invisible from their line of sight. By any chance, do you possess an inherent ability to see such creatures? A Seer’s Eye, perhaps?” she asked. 

“No,” I said. “I found these… these binoculars.”

“Binoculars, you say?” She sounded surprised. 

“Lying on the street on my way home from... well, yeah.” 

“It happens to be the same pair of binoculars Roy stole from Ind--- a human convenience store a long while back,” Valdus added. “Which strikes me as strange. It was just a plastic pair of toy binoculars. Random Chinese brand. Wintry design, if that helps. Some sort of cheap holiday souvenir.”

“Do you still have it?” prodded Azizah. “May I see?” 

“Um, sure.” Valdus, who had apparently kept it in his satchel, pulled it out. 

Azizah snatched the binoculars from his hand and inspected it by the fire. She ran her fingers through its engravings, spitting out harsh remarks such as “cheap” or “substandard”. Only once she tapped on one of its lenses, the broken one, did her curiosity pique. 

“This isn’t normal glass,” she said. “Look. It’s layered in permafrost!” 

We took a few seconds to process this stunning revelation. 

“So you’re saying he, like, froze the glass?” Valdus chuckled. “Just… why?” 

“My best guess? He was bored,” said Azizah. “So, Indira, you encountered these binoculars and looked through it without much thought. Was that what happened?” 

“On point! But how did it show me the, err, mist monsters?” 

“To put it briefly, Froid ice has unique properties,” Azizah explained. “It can serve as a looking-glass for aspiring misthos hunters such as myself, those who weren’t born with Elemental blood running through their veins. Plus, it’s convenient. It will not melt for centuries.”

“That’s why it’s used to build the superstrong fort around the Glacaume Grand Gallery!” Valdus recalled, referencing a journey from his past which I was clueless about. “So even the elf security guards can see if there’s misthos approaching.” 

“Correct,” said Azizah. “You’re catching up fast, Val."

“I’m not as clueless as you give me credit for,” muttered Valdus. 

Azizah giggled. 

"Alright, so," I sucked in a deep breath. "I happen to be stuck in an alternate universe where magic… isn't fake. And you guys…. you're teen elemental warriors who defend both worlds from monster attacks." Hearing how stupid I made it sound, I cringed. "How wrong was I?"

"Not bad," commented Valdus. 

Azizah crossed her arms. "Half correct."

"So you all…" I struggled to find the right words. "Have. Uh. Superpowers?"

I slapped my own forehead. Godammit, Indy! 

Valdus twiddled his fingers. "Well…"

"Technically…" Azizah smoothened the folds of her loose headscarf. 

"It's rather complicated…" 

"But… yes. In a sense." 

I adjusted my sitting position, suddenly feeling itchy. Misplaced. 

"That's, uh, neat!” 

"It's not." Valdus shuddered. "Trust me, it's frickin' not."

(He didn't really say "frickin" here, although it would've added to the sheer novelty of our conversation. He used the other word, which I bet our English teacher would highly disapprove of. Shout out to Miss Majorie!) 

"What can you do?" I asked, incredulous. 

"I---uh---well…"

"Doesn't it look obvious to you?" Azizah snapped. "Valdus is a Ventus Elemental, a mixed-blood Hybrid, to be exact." 

I widened my eyes, awaiting an explanation. "Which means... what?"

Azizah gave a long sigh. "He can charge your phone."

"Really?" 

"No I can't!" 

"Or cook up a brilliant storm to bring forth the destruction of the Domains." She shrugged. "Choose your pick." 

I slowly spun my head towards Valdus, which made him shifty and uncomfortable.  
“Before you ask, I know it sounds cool and all, but I can’t control it, okay?” he complained. “I don’t know how the hell Roy could manage. It’s too much to handle sometimes! I feel it. I feel it right now, the buzzing, the electricity crawling under my skin… I want to let it out, but I can’t risk hurting you guys!” He curled up, burying his face in his palms. 

“Don’t get close to me, Indira. I’m terrible.” 

“Val!” Azizah cried. She dashed towards the dinner table and spooned a mound of yellow, raisin-speckled grains onto a porcelain plate. “Eat your rice. Stop being ridiculous!”

I wanted to say something, but I wasn’t sure what. I couldn’t comfort him or whatever (I left the job to Azizah---she was a natural!), because I hadn’t the slightest idea what he was going through. Maybe, from his perspective, I was the lucky one, getting to live a mundane, worry-free life in the capital while he did all the dirty work. If he thought so, I wouldn’t want to look like I was rubbing it in. 

No matter how much of the curtains I tore apart, I was still watching from behind a window, a television screen I could never break through. 

\---

My next couple of days were spent in that very cottage, helping out Azizah do her daily chores out of politeness. Turns out she hadn’t lived there for long, as she and her small party of adventurers tend to move a lot, as to minimize confrontations with the enemy. She planned to relocate to the next village right after the festival season ends. It was only a matter of time, she told me, before word spread that two Elementals were spotted in Koti Village. The absence of social media helped cover up their tracks. 

I pulled up water from deep wells, washed dishes by the riverside, hung clothes on ropes, and was constantly being pestered by the snot-nosed toddler who lived in the neighboring home. The kid wanted candy. I told him I had none. He told me to make some appear. I told him I couldn’t. He ran sulking towards his stern mother, whose murderous glare seemed to penetrate the mask I wore. I quickened my pace, afraid of being caught. 

Roy and Valdus were forced to stay indoors, to their great disappointment. I avoided talking to them at all costs, pretending I hadn’t known them. They didn’t seem to mind. They were busy discussing anyway, something about Arkeluc’s “grand scheme” which would take place on the coming 25th of December. They were confused, because it was already February according to Fiktorian calendars. Time runs differently here, I concluded. If I had counted correctly, one day in the human world was equivalent to an approximate value of two weeks. But I'm not so sure. 

I still had my phone with me. The battery was fifty-eight percent left, not bad. In the privacy of the guest room, I’d stand on my tippy toes on a stack of pillows on my bed, waving the screen around like a dysfunctional wand, hoping to get at least a single bar of signal. Over and over, I would try to call my parents, Dadi, Naomi. After failing countless times, I would cry into a pillow. What if I couldn’t come home? I would just be another face in another missing person poster, abandoned by the cops. Besides, nobody could find me here. Not unless they were magic, which would also mean they weren’t willing to help.

It was during one such emotional breakdown when I heard the door creak open. I couldn’t lock the door because there was no lock, so anybody would barge in and out as they pleased. Normally it was Azizah, who would flip through the textbooks scattered on the floor, and criticize them when they made no sense. As much as I enjoyed her company, even she spoke nothing of my return, swiftly diverting the topic every time I dropped a subtle hint about returning to school. 

This time, I knew it wasn't her. 

Azizah would've knocked first. She had manners. 

I covered my face underneath the pillow I was, luckily, holding at the moment. I pretended to be asleep, even adding a couple of exaggerated snores for good measure. 

"Aww… are you crying again, Indy?"

"Shut up," I said, my voice muffled. 

Great. Worst-case scenario. 

The footsteps came closer. "I don't get why you're so worked up on going back," Roy said, smug as always. "Look at the bright side! Not everyone gets to spend a week's vacation in an ideal RPG village." 

I said nothing. 

Roy paced around. "Even though this bedroom is packed with Level 2 Slime. Can't see, eh?" He sighed, tapping the walls. "Don't worry. They're harmless. Won't hurt anyone." He paused. "...Usually. You want me to get rid of 'em?" 

"Get out!" I blindly threw another random pillow.

"Missed!" Roy laughed, slapping his knees. "Nice try. Better work on your aim if you're helping us fight tomorrow." 

I let the pillow slip in shock. 

"What nonsense are you talking about?" 

"Good news is, we're heading to Jakarta!" Roy plopped himself on the bedside. "Bad news? Arkeluc's taking over the city." 

I hastily wiped my tears. “Wha…?" 

"He's tryna impress his uncle. Complicated family history. Also pissed off I almost beat him earlier." He shrugged. "Can't take over Fiktoria, that's taken by His Atrociousness. Earth is the easiest alternative." 

"Why Jakarta, though?" I complained out loud. None of it seemed to make sense. "Why not New York? Paris? Tokyo? Aren't those supposed to be the popular choices for villains?"

"I told you. He's trying to annoy me, specifically. And maybe Valdus." 

"Who are you guys, anyway? It's not like you're, I don't know, prophesied heroes or something."

"We sort of are."

"Damn!" 

"Which is why we need your help. You've lived there longer than any of us, and Arkeluc doesn't even know you exist! For now." He rubbed his palms, giddy at the prospect. "You'll be our wildcard, Indy. Nothing serious."

I zoned out. "So you're saying… you found a way to get us home."

Roy gave a thumbs-up and a wink. “A foolproof method, devised by yours truly in the last forty-eight hours." 

“Then why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“You never asked.” 

“Oh my God!" 

Sitting facing the opposite side of the wall, I clasped my forehead tight. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry some more. _Shame._ More than anything, I wanted to get myself out of this awkward situation. I willed myself to disappear and forget any of this ever happened. Nothing worked.

"How long have you known?" 

"Known what?"

I did a clumsy whirling gesture with my hands.

"Oh… oh.” He gazed past the bedside window, tracing the dewy glass with his finger. “The ice thing?” 

“Mm-hm.”

Unlike Valdus, he didn’t shy away from the topic. 

“It’s kind of a funny story,” he said. “You’ll love it, because it makes me look stupid.” He scribbled a skull’s outline on the window. 

“The first time I found out, was also the first time I died.”

“What the---”

“Shush!” Roy snapped. “Let me continue. Remember when you thought I was dead, so you called the cops and everything?” 

“Of course I remember!” I cried. “You were lying limp in the janitor’s closet. There was a knife or something, on your chest and… and there was fake blood everywhere!” 

“Well, that wasn’t supposed to be a prank.”

“And how was it so?” 

“I stabbed myself. By accident.” 

“Fantastic.” I rolled my eyes. 

“No, I’m serious!” Roy said. He did, indeed, look unusually serious. “So I went to hide in the closet ‘cause it got like, very cold all of a sudden---”

“You told Miss Majorie you had a fever,” I recalled, dumbstruck. 

“---Yeah! I wasn’t exactly lying when I said that. I did think I was sick, and I was heading to the Nurse’s Office. But then it just got so... overwhelming, so I barged in the closet, which was the warmest possible place I could think of. It was empty. I shut the door and just sat there, waiting. Waiting for the sensation to end.” He paused to catch his breath. “And that… was when it happened. First time.” 

“When you, uh, impaled yourself, you mean?” 

“I felt nothing when the icicle shot through my hand,” he admitted. “It only hurt when it went past my chest. For a while, I blacked out. I thought of nothing at all. Dreamed nothing. Absolutely null. But then I woke up, and I was alive! Good as new.” 

I stared in disbelief. “Just like that?”

“Just. Like. That.” 

“Impossible,” I whispered. 

“I know.” 

“Wow. I don’t get it. So you’ve got magic and you’re immortal?” 

“Not exactly immortal. We’re… how do you put it? Undead.” He drew something else on the window. Three hearts. “We can’t die, at least not under usual circumstances, but turns out we’re also never ‘alive’ in the first place. The entire concept of human mortality is completely foreign to Fiktorians.” 

“Doesn’t make sense at all,” I protested, shaking my head. 

“Be glad. You’re never meant to understand, anyway.”

“Whatever.” I grabbed a tissue from the side pocket of my bag and blew my nose. 

“Now that I’ve finished telling stories, can we discuss our plan now? Please?” 

I sat upright, alert. 

“So, tell me. What am I supposed to do, again?”


	6. My Dear, You May Go // Voice Note 05

At 6:30 a.m., Gambir Station was supposed to be packed. Rush hour. 

On Christmas morning, it became a lot worse. 

You’ve been there, I bet. Maybe that’s where you arrived from, as it’s just a short walking distance from this café. What do you think? Are the trains better than the ones back in Mumbai? Here, it’s... less crowded, for sure, and nowadays you don’t see people clinging to doors and windows that often. Nobody sits on the roof, either. Do our passengers still do that, even now? I’ve only seen pictures from the Internet. Never been on board a _desi_ train since I was five, before I relocated here. 

I leaned against a tall green pillar in front of a Lawson branch, sick from tumbling past an interdimensional vortex. Holding my phone against my ear, I waited for the landline beeps to stop. I watched the huge jumbotron up above to distract myself. An advertisement played for a new flavor of instant noodles. On loop. I think it was Korean chicken barbeque or something. My stomach growled. 

Finally, an answer came.

"Hello?" I cleared my throat. "Mom? Dad?"

I wasn’t prepared for this call. An old woman passed by, wrapped in shawls and pushing a stack of cardboard boxes atop a metal trolley. She looked at me funny. I turned away and quickly wiped the stream of warm, unprecedented tears rolling down my flushed cheeks. 

"Yes, it's me! Missed you both too..." I sniffed. "Don't worry. I'm alright!” They asked me where I was. "I'm at the train station right now. Yup, near school.”

Oh no. Shouldn’t have said it. 

"Don't come to pick me up yet! Just... stay at home for now, okay? Trust me. Lock the doors. Bolt the windows. Charge every phone. All of them. There might be a power cut.”

As the confusion blared in a mixture of English, Hindi, and indiscernible mother noises, I made my way towards the exit. The ceramic floor was stained in brown smudges, slippery from mud-soaked footwear. An earthy, almost nostalgic post-rain scent hung in the air. There was a glowing sign on top depicting a walking stickman, which indicates that it was the exit I was looking for. 

"Something really bad will happen. I don't want you guys to get hurt." 

Panicked shrieks came from the other side. I pulled the speaker away. 

"...I'll be fine! I can't explain everything now, but we---we’ve got it covered."

I trudged on the sidewalk, tracing its path to reach the open road. 

"He's not a bad person! I mean, it's complicated, but---" Dad cut me off, yelling in rage. "No, no! I didn't run away with him or anything, I swear!"

At the bus stop, buses hardly appear anymore. Nervous clerks and content creators stood in rows, waiting for the rides they'd ordered online. The sun was already quite visible, so I hadn’t witnessed the dramatic sunrise I was hoping for. I never thought I’d miss this place at all, with the giant smiling puppets and musical bus honks and sudden construction sites appearing in the unlikeliest of places, narrowing the streets like how fat clogs blood vessels. For a while, the banal district was transformed into a Van Gogh masterpiece. The silver-painted man crouched below the flyover wasn’t a beggar, but a surrealist metaphor. 

A rogue bajaj zoomed past, splashing puddles on my uniform. 

"---told you, we did nothing---"

I frowned and picked at the greyish stain. There goes my riverside laundry. 

"I promise, I'll return safe. And we'll talk about it! I'm going to tell you guys everything that happened." 

A warning popped. Battery almost dead. 

"Sorry, gotta go now. Merry Christmas. Bye!” 

Call ended. 

I exhaled a deep sigh. Should’ve said more. 

I waited along with the others. Even though the screen had turned black, I pretended to scroll, just so nobody would dare ask why a foreign Capitol High kid was out so early on a public holiday, a rusty wooden bow and a quiver of arrows slung to her back. Their options were likely to narrow down to either archery lessons or inter-school gang fights, both of which were highly illogical given the circumstances. 

Valdus and Azizah were on their way to the spawn point, prepared for battle and everything. The “spawn point” was Monas, a.k.a. the National Monument, a tall torch-like fixture at the heart of the city. This wasn’t a code name we came up with. It was literal. Where else was a better place to summon a legion of beasts from? Good thing about dealing with a guy like Arkeluc was how predictable he was, or so I was told. He seemed to be late, too, which bought us more time. 

\---

Roy stole a motorbike. 

It was a lean, modified Honda CB-100 with a big round headlight at its front. Shiny, silver gears were visible on its sides, giving it an antique feel. Small in size, it looked like a regular bike from afar, slapped together with an engine. I swear I had seen it somewhere before, in a trailer for some sappy romance film. There was this motor gang throwing rocks at the windows of a high school, but then the piano came and then it’s just this bloke in a jean jacket hitting on some girl and… Argh! Who cares?

I watched him veer closer, skidding over rocks before he made the vehicle screech to a stop. He had on an oversized green hoodie, a familiar symbol of double concentric circles plastered on its back. He wore the helmet, too.

_You’ve got to be kidding me._

“Hop on, Indy!” he shouted over the din of traffic. 

I hesitated. “You're fifteen. You can’t ride a motorbike!” 

“I rode all the way here. Isn’t that enough proof for my expertise?” 

“No, I mean... you aren’t supposed to! It’s illegal.”

“We’re already using stolen property. What’s one more law to break?” He twisted the accelerator, setting off a deafening snarl. “Besides, the cops are the least we should worry about right now. Incoming monster attack? Hello?” 

I stayed put, arms crossed in defiance. 

“You really just don’t wanna ride with me, don’t cha?” 

Exasperated, I forced myself to sit on the worn leather backseat, slanted sideways like how I’d seen the polite local women do. “Ugh, fine.” 

There was a loud screech, and off we went. 

Past the speed limit. 

“Slow down!” I screamed. We narrowly dodged a black Avanza.

“No can do,” Roy said. “We’re doing important world-saving business here.” 

Orange cones were toppled. Rows and rows of trees blurred around us. 

“But this is dangerous!” I yelled louder. “I nearly fell off!” 

“Your fault. Who told you to sit in that position?” 

“For God’s sake, Roy.” A jolt came as we rolled over a stray rock. “Just---slow down already!”

I witnessed in dread as we evaded a red traffic light. Sirens blared in the close distance. 

“See? Now look what you’ve done!” 

“Be quiet. Tryna focus here.” We drifted to the left, leaning dangerously towards the asphalt, and passed ivory government buildings enclosed within intimidating black fences, their names spelled out in embossed silver. Symbols of the right-facing garuda occupied every blank space imaginable, bearing witness to our legal violations. The sirens got louder, overlapping. They were gaining on us. 

“Quick! Where’s the nearest toy store?” 

“Excuse me, what?” 

“Toy store,” Roy repeated frantically. “Or anywhere toys are sold!” 

“We’re being chased by the police, and you’re going to buy toys?” 

“Tell me where!”

“Grand Indonesia,” I said. “That’s the closest mall I know!” 

“Directions?” 

“I can’t use Google Maps! Low battery.” 

“But you remember where it is, right?” 

“Guess so!” I looked around, scanning for street signs and other landmarks I could draw from memory. “It’s not far from here… oh, oh!” 

“You see it?” 

“There!” I shrieked. “Right there! See? Between those two skyscrapers.” 

“Up ahead. Got it.” 

We zig-zagged towards the target. We were in the fancy business district now, where Dad’s office resided. Gardens shifted into glass buildings, and vehicles multiplied steadily in number. Looking down at us were the names of familiar brands and corporations often mentioned in the news, along with towering billboards and political banners fluttering in the breeze. I noticed they hadn’t taken down most of the Asian Games stickers yet, which triggered a sense of misplaced déjà vu. Further in, we went around the vast circular fountain surrounding a statue of a man and a woman, each with one arm raised in a gleeful posture. 

I had been here before. Many times. 

“Turn left,” I ordered. “Head to the parking lot.” 

“Aye-aye, captain!”

I snuck a quick glance behind. Good, no more police cars. 

“Hey, uh, Indy? When is this mall open, anyway?” 

It was still about seven in the morning. All the entrances were shut. 

“...Eleven,” I replied, having just remembered. 

Roy parked the motorbike on the designated drop-off point by the East Mall entrance. No guards were around at the moment, to our relief, and if there was one on patrol, they hadn’t yet noticed our arrival. He took his helmet off and dismounted. I followed.

We were a pair of idiots, standing in front of the inactive sliding door. 

“This will be tons of fun!” he said after a minute. “How do we break in?” 

I thought he was being sarcastic. He wasn’t. 

I convinced Roy not to break into the poshest luxury megamall in the capital. Somewhere along the lines of, _Haha, nope. You go. I'll stay. It's almost as if we’re trying to reserve a spot in juvenile prison. We’re in enough hot water by now, and I don't have cash, so I can’t bribe our way out of this mess. Dad isn’t going to like this..._ He listened to my rambling complaints, bobbing his head up and down as if he understood. 

When I ran out of breath, he seized the opportunity to perform an exaggerated flying spin kick, shattering the glass door into a messy stack of jagged pieces. 

My jaw dropped. “No!”

“Wasn’t expecting that to work,” Roy admitted, flashing a satisfied grin. “But it did. So let’s go!”

He stepped in, casual as he could be, while I trailed behind. I desperately scanned my surroundings for any hidden cameras, almost hoping someone would come and drag me out of this madness. Give us the punishment we deserve. Speeding tickets. Push-ups, at least. Or maybe we would be forced to sing a patriotic anthem in public, songs we probably hadn’t memorized yet, being international students.

Like, how lucky could we possibly be? 

\---

The lights were dim and yellowish, leaving dark, shadowy spots where it remained switched off. Our footsteps echo on the marble floor, dampened only by the faint noise of air-conditioning. Left and right were closed shops, hidden behind metal garage doors. I had to struggle with the constant fear of being followed, or tracked by CCTV cameras. It really seemed like we had the entire place to ourselves, which was too good to be true. 

A Christmas tree was on display in the main atrium, adorned with sparkling bulbs and ribbons and a star on top. It was placed adjacent to a stage shaped like a huge golden cube, tied with an oversized ribbon, and a cardboard gingerbread house. We weaved our way past giant peppermints and rows of prancing reindeer cutouts and marathoned up escalators, conveniently stacked one on top of the other. We weren’t taking the lift. Too risky. 

“Fifth floor.” I panted. “Few more to go.”

“We’re wasting our time here,” Roy protested, leaning on the rubber railing. 

“Well, you’re the one who wants to go shopping! Not me.” I propped myself down, sitting at the edge of an unmoving stair. “This isn’t even part of the plan!” 

“Yes it is! Where do you think we’re getting the presents from?” 

“I thought they were going to, like… poof! Magically appear.” I unzipped my backpack and pulled out Azizah’s shell purse. She had lent it to me earlier. “Isn’t this supposed to provide whatever stuff we need?”

“That’s not how it works.” Roy snatched the purse from my grip. “Apparently, what this bag does is store and alter existing objects. Not create new ones.” 

“Then what are we going to do? Steal stuff?” 

“Uh-huh.” He nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. We can take advantage of the unlimited storage capacity and---” 

“Hang on!” I interrupted. “We’re here to pull off a heist in…” I slapped a palm across my face. “...Toys Kingdom? Really?”

“Well, yeah. Kinda.” 

“Of all places…” I could feel a migraine forming deep within my skull. “This is so stupid.”

“Perhaps, to you. But it is a perfectly plausible course of action,” Roy argued. “Misthos are born out of human negativity. Hatred. Fear. Sadness. Those sort of things. Which means, the only way to counter their spell, besides binding them with magic ropes in specific ways I couldn’t care less about, is to spread joy.”

“And how are we even going to deliver the presents?” I asked. “We don’t own a sleigh. Or flying reindeer, for that matter!” 

“I’m working on that.” Roy got up, about to ascend the next escalator. “For now, we’ll wing it.” 

“Great. I need Panadol.”

We resumed our journey. Somewhere along the way, I caught sight of a vacant playground with bright painted canoes, bumper cars, and a carousel. Back in my younger days, this was where I’d spend most of my weekends, riding the same rides over and over. I used to think of these indoor shopping centres as tiny worlds of their own, where everything seemed to be so complete and wonderous, in a naïve childish sense. I had daydreamed amongst the fake temples, fake windmills, fake circus tents, thinking this was the best I could possibly find. I was sure, everything I wished for was here, stacked in aisles. 

This wave of nostalgic reverie hit me most once we made it to the section heavily inspired by classic European architecture. I remembered it all---the smooth marble columns, black cobblestone floors, the plastic trees, the statues of horses and angels blowing trumpets. Roy whistled. He seemed impressed. 

“You go here on weekends?” he asked. 

“It’s been a while,” I said. “Can’t remember when I last came.” 

“Cool.” He picked up a fallen plastic leaf on the floor and traced it with his fingers. “Guess this is where all rich kids go, huh?”

I caught a hint of disdain in his remark. “Excuse me? Don’t act like you’ve never been in a mall before.”

“Not everyone’s loaded like you, Indy. You’d better not take it for granted.” He chucked the leaf, sending it spiraling down into the void. “Besides, everything here looks... artificial. Some sort of illusion built to fool people into wasting money and living pretend fantasies.” He shuddered. “Creeps me out.” 

“Look, there’s the toy store!"

“Right, right. Here we are.” 

Just like all the other stores around it, Toys Kingdom was blocked with a steel drop-down shutter. Behind the tiny rectangular holes, I could make out the shadowy outline of a cardboard cutout depicting the store’s infamous mascot, a stout tiger with a red crown perched on its disproportionate head, nestled between a pair of metal detectors. 

I stepped closer, feeling uncertain. “We’re not just going to barge in, aren’t we?” 

“Use the handbag,” Roy said. “It’s magical, remember?” 

Rolling my eyes, I unclasped the purse, opening it wide. It was empty. 

“Then what?” 

“Tell it what to do.” 

“Am I supposed to say a spell, or…” 

“Try making a wish. But be specific.” 

“In English?” 

“Yes.” Roy sounded exasperated. “English.” 

“Alright.” I peeked into the purse and said, loud and clear:

“I want every toy in this store!”

I waited. Nothing happened. I was about to point this out, insisting that we must’ve made a mistake, when a rumbling noise was heard deep within the store. Coming closer... and closer… until we finally spotted its source.

“Oh my…”

Boxes and blister packages alike were torn off from shelves. They levitated, spinning at a terrifying speed, forming a wild hurricane of commercial playthings. Cars and robots. Dolls and teddy bears. Action figures. Swords. Packets of slime. Squishies. Basketballs and water guns. Cards and bricks. Scooters. Drones. It grew larger by the second, gathering strength, before bursting through the metal shutters, getting sucked into the bag as if it were a black hole. I fell backwards, unable to hold my ground. 

An alarm rang, resonating throughout the vacant halls. Roy stepped on the bag, closing it shut, and tossed it towards me. Clumsily, I caught it. 

We prepared to run. 

“ _Attention, Priyanka Chopra and albino GoJek driver!_ ” said a man on the intercom. “ _We have no idea how you did... what you just did, but we are not afraid. Get down. Stay right where you are! We have secured all exits._ ”

I snorted in disbelief. “He thinks I’m Priyanka?”

“Probably the only Indian woman he’s ever seen.” 

We dashed back the way we came, only to discover that we had to traverse back down the endless row of escalators. “Now what?” 

Without warning, Roy grabbed my arm and jumped down down the balcony, dragging me along with him. I screamed. He slipped off the leather gloves he wore and conjured a wide spiral slide out of ice. On it, he glided smoothly on his feet, while I rolled and tumbled until we reached the Ground Floor. We made it to the door where we came from, but it was now swarmed with patrol guards wearing caps and dark blue uniforms. They were holding batons. Heavy, expandable batons. Cuffs dangled loose from their leather belts. 

“Halt!” one of them barked. We stopped. 

A baton was raised. “None of us will do any harm, as long as you cooperate.” He pulled a walkie-talkie out of his pocket, crackling with static. 

Roy blasted the walkie-talkie from the security guard’s hand. It snapped in half. 

The guard backed away, while his cronies watched in speechless horror. “You… you…” was all he could say as he pointed a trembling finger towards us. He wanted to say something else. He wasn’t sure what. 

We used this moment of temporary distraction to make a run for it, towards the CB-100.

The motorbike wasn’t there anymore. 

“How? Didn’t you bring the---”

“Keys!” Roy searched his pockets. “Damn, I forgot.” 

“Congratulations,” I said. “We’re done for!”

I bolted as far away from the spot as I could, leaving him behind.

\---

Above us, the sky darkened. A pool of void appeared, something like a blot of ink spreading throughout the blank skyline. From within it, a figure descended, cape fluttering down his shoulders. Arkeluc was determined to keep his moment in the spotlight---or the shadows, depending on how literal you are---a memorable one. My Chemical Romance played in the background in an ear-splitting volume. God knows where he installed bass boosted speakers. 

“Greetings, worthless humans!” he boomed. The streets vibrated. Buildings shook. People in the streets craned their heads upwards, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Who could this be? Was it the end of days already? They groaned. 

“I have come to become your new ruler,” he continued, “and there ain’t nothin’ you can do about it!” Cue the evil laugh. 

One woman shrugged. Like, sure. 

“Why aren’t any of you intimidated? You are supposed to be afraid!” Arkeluc protested. He stomped the ground, sending ripples of cracked stone. 

“Dunno, man,” said a guy. “Not a big fan of MCR.”

“Yeah,” said another guy. “It’s too loud. Too distracting.” 

Arkeluc responded with a swear word which, according to future reports, could be heard from the neighboring city of Depok. Satisfied, he floated up the National Monument with his arms open wide. I wasn’t sure what really took place up there, so I assumed he was casting an incantation of some sort. The gold top of the monument pulsated, and soon the entire structure was bathed in puffy clouds of glitter. 

Moments later, misthos marched out of the fog, visible to all.

Where were the Vazizah duo when you needed them? If only they'd come a few minutes earlier, then this whole mess could've been avoided. Simple as knocking Arkeluc down as soon as he popped down the portal. I had the same sense of frustration I got when I watched a low-budget action movie. Some key events could be prevented, but the director was too lazy to spot the leakages. 

Coming my way, swinging from rooftops with sticky long tongues, were what appeared to be grey-skinned frog zombies. Oily black liquid dripped from their wide open mouths. They were just as famished as I was. 

I wasn’t planning to make use of the weapon I had, the generic bow suffering a lack of necessary enchantments. Despite my position as a navigator with low attack stats, I did manage to have some target practice shooting scarecrows in the fields, and I didn’t manage to hit a single one. None of it mattered at the moment. I was hungry, irritated, and I needed a nap. In a frenzy, I pulled the string and shot a couple of arrows. One hit, two misses. The hit inflicted no damage whatsoever. 

Still, I was proud. 

The frog zombies erupted in angry croaks. They advanced towards me, lashing out their tongues, and soon I was cornered to the edge of the round fountain. I kept one arrow aimed, arms shaking in terror. After spending more than enough seconds staring at the zombies, unearthly drool dripping on my hair, I was hit by a twinge of disorientation. At any moment, I felt like I would evaporate into the air, into nothingness. 

Behind me, the fountain water curled and danced, writhing like transparent snakes in a zoo exhibit. Liquid threads interweaved, up and down, knitting themselves together. What formed before my eyes was---lo and behold!---an ice hoverboard. It floated midair for a moment, rotating in a slow circle as if it was a rare bonus item. Roy jumped on top of it, causing the long rectangular platform to sway back and forth. He wobbled, almost tripping. 

"You can do that?" I asked. 

"Sometimes, when I'm in the mood.” He looked at me, concerned. “Why’d you run off?”

“I was... freaked out, alright?” 

“Don’t be. From how you handled those froggies, you’re better than I expected.”

Roy lowered the board and signalled for me to stand on the back. Whether or not this hoverboard was meant to accommodate two people was a scientific worry which didn't apply to Fiktorian-made vehicles. I stepped on it, first with my right foot to test the balance, and then with both. 

I regretted it almost instantly. 

Before I could orient myself with the slippery moving surface, the hoverboard blasted upwards to the skies, leaving a trail of snow in its wake. Down below, the misthos gaped at our grand, if impractical, escape. 

I tugged the edge of Roy's hoodie, throwing him off balance. We almost crashed into a jumbotron. Flashing lights blinded my vision. After a violent maneuver, I dangled midair, my hand gripping the edge of the board. I noticed how the fountain we left behind looked like a giant, menacing eyeball, the waving statue couple protruding from its iris. I struggled to climb back up and regain my footing.

We surfed above commuter lines, following the railway tracks. Cars dotted the grey roads, scattered like assorted varieties of jelly beans. The buildings were cereal boxes. Some even had writings in the back, usually discounts or cigarette advertisements. There was this interchange where the roads criss-crossed each other in random patterns, reminding me of tangled yarn. They were like urban crop circles.

The view was amazing. I tried to ignore it.

“Do you still have the purse?”

I waved it in front of Roy’s face. “Unlike you, I’m not as forgetful.” 

I opened up the purse. A flurry of presents, wrapped in shiny foil and tied to tiny parachutes, streamed out of it. We flew around the city, airdropping presents. It was just like those cartoon holiday specials, where the main characters band together to deliver children’s gifts, saving Christmas in the process. Every year, such episodes would air on television, each with storylines which were more or less the same. Cheesy and repetitive as they were, I enjoyed them so. And I never even decorated a tree before. 

I laughed. Roy did a Santa impression, which made me laugh harder. 

He smiled. “Having fun, are we?”

No way I was admitting it. But I never had so much fun. 

Ever. 

\---

At the center of the green square of trimmed grass was the National Monument, where the important battle with Arkeluc was ongoing. Seemed like we flew into an Avengers set, minus the green screen and the Russo brothers. Azizah was a much better archer than I was, and her silver bow was way, way cooler than the one I had to borrow. Valdus was going head-to-head with the ultimate edgelord himself, swinging his scimitar like a warrior straight out of the Arabian Nights. Sometimes, there were special effects. Lightning and bursts of flame scorched the grass. Spectators crowded the scene, sealed off with yellow tape. Once this was over, would they be made to forget anything ever happened? 

I hoped not. 

Snow was scattered on the roads, uneven, courtesy of the hoverboard. Misthos dwindled in number, and the new additions which were being spawned were decreasing in size and overall scariness. We did it. Our scheme worked. I could just imagine the surprised faces of the kids who lived under the flyover when a gift box landed at their feet. Maybe they hadn’t believed in Santa Claus before. Maybe they didn’t know who he was.

Maybe they were confused. Cold, too. 

"Aw man." I face-palmed. "We should’ve parachuted thermal jackets along with the gifts!"

"They'll be fine," Roy reassured. "This won't be an eternal winter or anything." 

Arkeluc seemed to realize something was off. I prayed for him not to look up. 

He didn’t. But then we were approached by winged eyeballs. 

Stuff went downhill from there. 

\---

You’ve heard what happened next. Seen it live streamed, even. That was when the public noticed our presence---the girl and the boy snowboarding through Jakartan skies. We were caught in a swarm of pesky eyeballs. In a click, we had our picture taken, projected in the misty sky. A bat-signal. Wanted poster. Notification box. In the air-photograph, I was swatting an eyeball with one hand, while Roy held the other to keep me from falling. 

You've seen the snowstorm, a deadly combo. You've seen the vile darkness it overpowered. 

You’ve seen the arrow. You’ve seen it pierce the top of the National Monument. You’ve seen it crumble and fall. You’ve seen the monsters disappear. 

I shot it.


End file.
